


Too Many Quotes (a.k.a. Pretty Little Warm Up a.k.a. Take Off Your Top Layer a.k.a. Pancake)

by josthefiendandcamthequeen, taliatheloser



Category: Inception (2010), Original Work, The Room (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Blasphemous, Complete crack, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I Hope No One You Know Ever Reads This, I'm sorry..., Merry Christmas!, Multi, Nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:04:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2953397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josthefiendandcamthequeen/pseuds/josthefiendandcamthequeen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/taliatheloser/pseuds/taliatheloser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas presents need no descriptions, other than "I'm sorry, but not sorry enough not to post this..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Many Quotes (a.k.a. Pretty Little Warm Up a.k.a. Take Off Your Top Layer a.k.a. Pancake)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chris Baby](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Chris+Baby).



> This is a non-denominational winter celebration gift for my dear friend. I hope your life isn't ruined by what I wrote at three in the morning after eating an entire sleeve of Thin Mints and crying over the characters in The L Word. But if it is...YOLO Betch!!!!!!!
> 
> ~Brosaphine

Chris Baby didn’t know what it was about his new coach; maybe it was the lank, greasy black hair that hung limply over his pale, pasty face, or maybe it was the dull eyes that never seemed to focus or even look in the same direction, or perhaps it was the insufferable deadpan voice that had no background or inflection. He didn’t understand what it was about Tommy Wiseau, but whatever it was was incredibly arousing. 

Chris Baby limped into the locker room, aching in more ways than one. Being a proud male figure skater was much harder than it looked. Especially when the one instructing you to perfect your camel spins and drilling you on your brackets was Tommy Wiseau. 

Chris Baby froze upon entering The Room, for there the coach was, in all his sketchy foreigner glory, completely naked. 

“Oh hiiiii Chris.” Coach Wiseau drawled, slowly turning around to face the stunned boy. The man moved as if underwater; even on the ice his reactions seemed lazy and subdued. Chris, however, could not move at all--he stared at the twin globes glacially revolving, the square, ghostly pale flesh of his coach finally shocking him into action. 

“Hey Coach here ya go!” Chris Baby shouted, hurling a nearby towel towards the still-turning Tommy. It hit him in the face before flopping towards the floor. The man didn’t react. Tommy Wiseau’s expression remained distant and vacant. Chris continued to stare, unsure of what to do after offering his nude coach and crush a towel to preserve his modesty. 

Luckily, the other man’s phone rang before Chris had to embarrass himself by gaping any more. Tommy paused, his arms outstretched towards Chris Baby and his junk a mere hip-turn away from complete view. 

“Oh, let me just answer my caaaallll,” Tommy Wiseau rolled out, his tongue appearing so thick and heavy in his mouth as to smother the words as they attempted to escape. Slowly, he began bending down from the waist to reach the flip phone lying on the bench. Chris watched in growing horror and fascination and not a tiny bit of disgusting arousal as his coach’s boxy ass spread its loose, flabby cheeks further and further apart…

“Nononooo let me get that for you!”

Chris Baby dashed forward and snatched up the Nokia on the bench, quickly handing it to an unfurling Tommy. He answered it with a blank face and a monotone. 

“Oh hiiii Lisaaaa...Whatever I don’t caaarrre...You think about everything ha ha ha…Anything for my princess!”

As the dull speech patterns of an obviously non-native English speaker continued, Chris Baby realized the awkward position he was currently in. Dashing for the phone had put him directly between Tommy Wiseau and the locker room bench, and being trapped so close to the enigmatic man of his dreams was intoxicating in a way Chris had never experienced before. 

The snap of the phone closing roused Chris Baby out of his daydream. God, it was like being in fourth period around this man; he felt a nearly overwhelming urge to sleep. 

“Let’s go eat, huh?”

Chris Baby blinked.

“Um, what?”

“Anyway, how is your sex life?”

Chris Baby blinked some more. 

“Wait, what?!?”

“I have a problem with Lisa. She says that I hit her.”

Chris Baby didn’t even know how much to blink at that. Instead he began to back away. 

“I did not hit her, it’s not true! It’s bullshit! I did not hit her!” 

Chris Baby backed away even faster. Tommy Wiseau picked up his water bottle from the bench and threw it across The Room carelessly. 

“I did naut... Oh hi Chris.”

“Yeah, um, I’m gonna go now…”

“Ha ha ha what a story Chris…”

“Okay...I’m leaving forever now…”

“You betrayed me!”

“What? No I didn’t? When?”

“You, you’re just a chicken.”

Chris ran from The Room, a haunting jeer following him out of the skating rink.

“Cheep-cheep-cheep-chip-chip-cheep-cheep…”

“MOM!”

~*~ 

LATER THAT NIGHT…

CRASH!

Chris Baby shot up in bed, his heart pounding. His bloodshot eyes searched the darkness of his room for any intruders, but he could make nothing out. Cautiously, he crept out of bed and made his way downstairs. It was probably nothing, and Chris had got enough sleep to go watch some more YouTube videos until morning. 

He made his way down the stairs, but froze when a scruffling sound made its way from the basement to his frightened ears. It sounded as though there was someone in the house…

There was. As Chris Baby crept down into the basement he could make out the lumpy figure of a man thrashing about. A strange, grotesque moaning escaped the man’s throat and reverberated throughout The Room, sending chills prickling along Chris Baby’s spine. But the nonsensical words that he made out were even more chilling. 

“You are tearing me apart Lisa!”

Oh dear god, it was Tommy Wiseau.

Some small, teenage-girl part of Chris Baby glowed unhealthily at the sound of his love’s voice, and that stupidity drove him out of the shadows and into the other man’s arms. Well, it would have, if his arms weren’t otherwise occupied by Chris Baby’s enormous television. 

With an inhuman yell, Tommy Wiseau hurled the television through Chris’ downstairs window. The crash from that was even greater than the one that woke him up, and Chris Baby could only spare a moment’s thought towards his parents before his former Coach turned towards him, a gun in one meaty palm. 

“Don’t touch me motherfucker,” he growled as Chris Baby stretched an arm towards him. 

“Everybody betrayed me! I’m fed up with this world!”

“No, don’t!” Chris Baby screamed. 

There was a bang, then everything went dark. 

~*~

“...we’re gonna need to do a little better than might.”

Chris Baby had a massive headache. His eyes felt glued shut and the inside of his elbow felt sore. Low voices carried faint sound to him, but nothing else. He fought a wave a nausea as he struggled to sit up and clear his head. Strong arms wrapped around him and a soothing deep British accent whispered comfortingly in his ear. 

“You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.”

Chris Baby cracked open his eyes, and immediately shut them against the light. He was in some unfamiliar warehouse-looking building, with two, maybe more strange men. Okay. He knew he hadn’t gone to that rave with Brosaphine and Talia, so where the hell was he?

“Where were you? What happened to you?”

Chris Baby realized the other man, the one not holding him up, was speaking to him. He cleared his throat and tried to formulate his crazied thoughts into words. 

“Y-you t-tell me. Where am I? What have you done to me?”

The man he spoke to was dressed fastidiously in a three-piece suit, while the man with the British accent was wearing what looked like a ugly Christmas sweater. Was he at a Christmas party? Or did the mad dress that hideously on purpose?

The man turned and winked at Chris. “A bit too much free champagne before take off, Christopher?”

“Excuse me? What are you talking about?”

The well-dressed one stalked over to Chris Baby and shook him by the collar of his shirt. “Asshole! How did you mess up the carpet?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about? What’s going on? Where am I? Why is no one making sense?”

Chris Baby shook his head violently back and forth, searching each stranger’s face for help, but there was none to be found. The two men shared a long, meaningful look, and then the well-dressed one released Chris Baby and took a step back, sighing loudly. He addressed the ceiling as he spoke:

“You can’t wake up from within a dream unless you die.”

The other man left Chris’ side and walked over to a long table cluttered with papers and files to grab what looked like a hand-held mirror. All of this made Chris Baby even more confused than ever. “What do you mean? I don’t understand…”

His voice left him as the image in the mirror came closer and closer. It was of a man, one with greasy, lank black hair, and a doughy hatchet face, and blank, glassy dead eyes. 

Chris Baby opened his hideous mouth, and screamed, in a voice he now recognized as not entirely his own. 

~*~

SOMEWHERE ELSE...

God (or G-d if you're one of those freaks) looked down upon her loyal subjects and sighed. Why must they all be so stupid? So self-absorbed and sex-crazed...was reading too much fanfiction and eating too many cookie casseroles what the Christmas season really about? God thought not. 

She tutted, dismayed but too kind to smite her weak kin, and turned back to her knitting. The gentle clicking of the needles against one another lulled her back to peace, and she turned her attention back to SMASH, sighing happily.


End file.
